


you were never really proud

by itisjosh



Series: onlypain [51]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mentors, Parallels, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Character Death, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29408634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itisjosh/pseuds/itisjosh
Summary: Tommy looks away from Wilbur's grave. "I'm so sick and tired of losing people, Wilbur. I'm so sick of missing you. I'm angry and I'm sad and I'm upset, and I..I love you, Will. I'll..come back tomorrow."---"Hey, asshole," Quackity kneels down in front of Schlatt's grave. "I fucking hate you."(or, tommy and quackity visit people who they used to love)
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: onlypain [51]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027711
Comments: 17
Kudos: 228





	you were never really proud

Tommy kneels down at Wilbur's grave, his hand tightening around the bouquet of flowers he decided to bring. They're all yellow tulips, and Tommy figured that his older brother would like them, since yellow was his colour. It used to be his colour, he used to wear yellow, he used to be flashy about it. Wilbur used to stand out in every single crowd that anyone put him in, and Tommy never understood how he did it. People would move for him, people would follow him, people would linger on his every word, listening to his voice without hesitation. They followed him to the ends of the world, never wavering in loyalty. Tommy would know, he thinks bitterly, he was like them. In his eyes, Wilbur could do no wrong.

In his eyes, Wilbur was the best thing to have ever happened. Wilbur was his best friend, his older brother, the strongest person around. He was strong and smart and great and _perfect_ , he was Tommy's _mentor_. Tommy never could see his flaws, and even if he really, really tried, he never could.

Tommy looks over his shoulder, barely able to see the lights of New L'manberg from here. Part of him is glad that Wilbur was buried out here, and the other isn't. He wishes that the man got to be buried with his country, not away from it. But, in a way, he understands. Tommy can understand why everyone else wouldn't want Wilbur's body under L'manberg, but Tommy still disagrees with it. Schlatt's grave is stood right next to Wilbur's, and Tommy can't help but scoff at the sight. Schlatt doesn't have any flowers, the grass around his grave is yellow and dead. Wilbur has thousands of flowers, if not more, and everything around him is so alive. He's got himself a little garden, and Tommy wonders if he'd appreciate it.

It's easy to think of Wilbur and smile. It's easy to think of his older brother and be reminded of memories that made him happy. Wilbur always made everything so easy for him, up until he didn't. Tommy sets the tulips on the mound of raised earth, leaning back. "I miss you," Tommy tells him, even though Wilbur can't hear him. Wilbur is dead, Wilbur's _fucking dead_. Tommy _knows_ that, he fucking knows. He tries his best to stop thinking about it, to pretend that Wilbur will eventually come back, just..not right now. It's easier that way, to pretend. Tommy knows that he shouldn't, but it's easier like that, and quite fucking frankly, he'll take the easy way out so long as it means he doesn't have to hurt as much as he does. "I'm fucking mad at you." 

Wilbur, wherever he is, has to know that. "You made me choose my county or you. You made me hurt, you _hurt_ me, Will," Tommy murmurs, gripping the earth, feeling morning dew slide down his fingers. "You made me pick and choose. You made me think that Tubbo was going to betray me. Why?" He asks, tilting his head to the side, as if he expects an answer. "I don't know what happened to you. We were so close to winning, and you..you just.." Tommy laughs. "You fucked us all over, Wilbur. You fucked up the entire thing, you made all of our plans die. You know," Tommy looks away, feeling his throat seize for a second. Tears threaten to spill, and he shakes his head, desperately wiping at his eyes with his hands. He's not going to cry, not now. "You said that you were proud of me, Will. Was that ever true?" Tommy winces when his voice shatters. 

"Was it true, Will?" Tommy asks. "Were you proud of me? Did you really believe that I'd do great things? Did you _really_ think that I would be important?" He swallows, biting down on his tongue hard enough to draw blood. The pain distracts him from the tears that prick at his eyes, if only for a moment. "Or was it all just a lie? Some stupid fucking lie that I believed without even.." he laughs, feeling the first tear slide down his face. "Were you ever really proud of me, Wilbur? Or did you just want me to keep trusting you? You had to have known that I believed you, you had to have..you had to.." 

Tommy breathes. 

"Fuck you," he whispers. "I'm so fucking mad at you. Why did you have to die, Will? Why? What happened? Why did you have to lose your mind? Everyone was here for you, we were all so ready to help, so ready to fix anything. We fixed every one of your mistakes, we carried you when you were on your knees, we..we.." Tommy shakes his head. "Why didn't you let us help you, Will? We wouldn't have judged you, none of us ever did. We always wanted to help, all of us. I'd have done anything you asked me to, and I.." he looks away from his brother's grave. "I wish you hadn't died. I miss you, Will. I miss you a lot. I wish that..I don't know," Tommy laughs, ducking his head. "I wish that things didn't happen like this." 

He leans back, putting his hands on his legs. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "Maybe it was my fault? I don't know. I'm scared, and I'm confused, and it doesn't make _sense_ , nothing makes sense! Nothing makes sense 'cause you're not here! You always told me what to do, you always made me believe that things would be okay!" Tommy shouts, shoving himself off of the ground. "I was so..I trusted you! Through every single thing you did, I believed in you! I always trusted you, and I- I.." he furiously wipes away his tears, jerking his gaze away from Wilbur's grave. "I still do. I still fucking trust you." 

"Of course I do," Tommy laughs. "Of course I do. Maybe it's stupid of me to trust you," he shoves his hands in his pockets, staring down at the yellow tulips. "Maybe I'm stupid. But I still trust you," he murmurs. "I think that I always will. Maybe you can.." Tommy closes his eyes. "Maybe you can just..give me a sign. Tell me that you're proud, tell me that things'll be okay. 'Cause right now, Will, I really fucking need that. I need that from you. I.." he breathes out. "I'm so sick and tired of losing people, Wilbur. I'm so sick of missing you. I'm angry and I'm sad and I'm upset, and I.." he opens his eyes again. "I'm scared, confused. I need you in my life, Wilbur. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. You always told me what to do," Tommy hates how helpless he sounds, how desperate he is. "Please, Will, just..just come back, okay? Please, just..just come back. Everyone needs you."

" _I_ need you." 

Tommy turns away from his grave, swallowing back the other words he wishes he had said. "I love you, Will. I'll..come back tomorrow. I really do hope that you meant it," Tommy glances back, if only for a second. "When you said that you were proud of me. I hope that you meant it. 'Cause I don't know if I can do this if that was a lie."

He walks away from Wilbur's grave, jamming his hands in his pockets as he wanders back to L'manberg, his heart hurting the entire time.

* * *

"Hey, asshole," Quackity kneels down in front of Schlatt's grave, reaching up to flick off some of the dust that's collected on his headstone. The grass around his grave is still dead, yellowed and dead. "You're still not letting any of that grow, huh?" He smiles, leaning back on his heels. Quackity looks away, wishing that he didn't have to come out here. He knows that no one is _making_ him, no one other than himself. He feels like he has something to prove, he feels like he still has to prove something to _Schlatt_ , of all people. That horned bastard is fucking _dead_ , and yet he _still_ has control of Quackity. "Sort of just like real life," he scoffs. "You never let anything or anyone grow around you. Kind of surprised that Wilbur's grave is still green." 

Quackity looks away, picking at the grass as a way to distract himself. "I fucking hate you," Quackity announces, even though he knows that Schlatt is well aware of that fact. "If I had another chance, I'd put a fucking knife in your throat. I'd have killed you before you could even run for President," he sighs, tilting his head up. It looks like it's going to rain. Quackity doesn't like it when it rains. It reminds him of far too many things. "I guess it's too late for that," he murmurs, shifting uncomfortably. The smell of rain and flowers is overwhelming. "You were _such_ a drunk bitch, you know that? I think that, if you just stopped fucking drinking, things could've been a lot better for you. For us. For literally everyone. But you never really gave a shit about anyone," Quackity snorts. "Not even yourself." 

"I had to look after you all the _fucking time_ ," he sneers, glaring at Schlatt's grave. "Every single day I'd come to your room and check if you were still alive. And then you'd get all pissy, you'd lash out. Hit me a few times, maybe. Yell at me a bit," Quackity rolls his eyes. "Every single day, there'd be a new scar. Maybe it wasn't physical, but it was still fucking there, you goddamn _prick_ ," he picks at the grass even more, pulling up clumps of dirt. "All I wanted to do was make sure you were okay. I don't.." Quackity sighs, tilting his head up to look at the sky. He closes his eyes for a second, frustrated. "I don't fucking understand you, man. I don't think I ever will. How could you hurt someone who loved you? What's the point in that kind of shit?" 

He looks back at the headstone, shoulders slouching. Schlatt's full name is written out, and it looks so _off_. It looks weird and pathetic and formal. Schlatt might have come off as formal, but he was anything but that. He was loud and angry and stupid, but he was also _so smart_ , and he was stubborn and good at lying. He was brash and arrogant and knew just how to get under Quackity's skin to the point where he'd retaliate and then Schlatt could use that as an excuse to-

Quackity breathes out, sighing again. He blinks back the memories, trying his best to pretend like they never happened. It's easier to push them down rather than actually deal with them. "I really wish your mom had drowned you in the fucking river as soon as you were born, you stupid _fuck_ ," Quackity snarls, narrowing his eyes at the grave. "I didn't even get closure, you know that? You died, and I couldn't even get the last word in. No, it was _you_ , you always got the stupid fucking last word in. You always made sure that you did, 'cause you knew that it would piss me off, and I just.." he shakes his head. "I'm fucking mad. I'm really fucking mad, Schlatt. I don't know why I keep coming out here to tell you that, but I guess it's easier than.." Quackity pauses, "talking to someone who actually cares. Talking to someone who'd listen. It's easier to talk to a dead guy who won't say anything back to me."

He sighs. 

It's the same thing every single time. Every time he comes out here he gets hurt, and he hates it. Quackity doesn't know why he keeps doing it to himself, he really doesn't. It doesn't make sense to him. "Do you regret any of it?" He asks, looking up at the sky again. It's probably not even six in the morning yet, and he already feels like shit. A cool breeze blows over him, not cold enough to make him shiver. "Any of it, anything at all?" Quackity asks again, not sure what he's waiting for. A response, maybe. "I doubt you do. You probably only regret dying," he scoffs, glancing at the ground. "Maybe you don't even regret that. You were pretty fucking ready to die, I think. I really fucking hate you, Schlatt. I hate you so much. I don't know why I keep doing this."

"It's because of you," he laughs, bitter and hollow. "It's always been because of you, and I hate that. I hate you and I hate myself and I hate.." Quackity slams his palm against the ground, " _this_. I hate this. I hate what you did to me. I hate what you turned me into. I hate a lot of things, Schlatt, I really fucking do. I need to stop coming out here," he tells himself. "I need to stop coming out here. It just makes everything worse," Quackity looks away from the headstone, his chest aching. "But I'm not going to. I want to. I need to. But I can't, I can't stop. What am I supposed to do now that you're gone, Schlatt? Am I just supposed to live my own life? Am I just supposed to- to _heal_ , to pretend like everything you did to me never happened? No one _understands_. No one knows what happened to me." 

Quackity laughs, ducking his head. "No one is ever going to know what happened to me. They can't know, or else they'll do the same. 'Cause once someone knows that you've already been broken, it doesn't fucking take much break you again," he breathes out, his heart slamming in his chest. "You taught me that, didn't you? Every single time I thought I was doing better, or that I wasn't as useless, or..or.." Quackity trails off. "You built me up just so you could kick the supports out from under me. You liked watching me fall, didn't you, you sick fuck? You liked watching me suffer. That's why you did it. You liked having the power- the- the ability to make me fall for you. To make me break." 

Quackity really will never understand why he lets himself come back here. 

Self-destruction is easier than healing, he thinks. 

"Bye, asshole." Quackity stands up, feeling a little more hollow than he had before he came here.

And despite himself, he says, "Love you."


End file.
